


Sometimes

by yoohoopuddin



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, it mentions blood and causing blood and feelings of worthlessness and well yes, so this is a warning, this could possibly be triggering and hence i am putting this in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:58:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoohoopuddin/pseuds/yoohoopuddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes. Sometimes Sebastian feels worthless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a haze of self-loathing lately. I'm stuck in a rut, basically. One that I'm not sure whether I want to claw my way out of or not; or rather, which way I want to come out of it. So I decided to smash some keys about Sebastian instead. So here. Have a messy drabble. And be careful, as I said in the tags. The last thing I ever want is to make anyone else upset. I am literally desperate; I just want everyone to be happy. I'll shut up now. -

Sometimes. Sometimes Sebastian stares at a blank page; stares at the pen quavering in the grip of his fingers; and feels as though he has never once been able to scribe anything of worth, that the ink splattered across countless papers before really was just an accidental splash of black or blue. That sense of accomplishment he’d sworn had blossomed in his chest; no, it hadn’t. It had never bloomed. It had never existed. Sometimes. Sometimes Sebastian stares at his scars; at the welts slung across his skin; and feels as though they aren’t battle wounds, they’re not stripes of pride and they never have been, never will be. He stares and he thinks, he thinks that they’re tarnishing him; crippling him. Gnawing and clawing at him; constant, constant, constant - fading but never disappearing. Always. Always there. Decisions and acts that he can’t, he can’t ever forget.

Sometimes. Sometimes Sebastian feels completely worthless. The gun in his hand falls limp; the metal no longer tickles but burns; scorching him as it tumbles from a pathetic, pathetic clutch. The one thing he’d believed he was good at; the one thing he believed he could reign high above all - a shot. And yet he remains, and will forever so, replaceable. His gaze finds one that is darker; one that is always so much darker. A sea of hazels and coppers and rust that drowns him every time he swims towards it. He should stop but he can’t. He’s thrust forward and forward and he realises he’s never in control. A hand grips at his throat; nails nip at the slope of his neck; tendons strained; jugular poised and bared - do it, do it, the knife is but a breath away; stowed in the pocket of the man seizing him so tight. But it never comes. It never ends. And he’s gasping for breath, guttering as the wet drains from his lungs. 

Sometimes. Sometimes Sebastian doesn’t believe in the warmth that envelopes him at night. He doesn’t believe in the cock that fills him; in the tugging and the thrusting that taunts him. He can’t. He’s worthless, he knows, and a cock - hard and ready - would never be for him. His eyelids droop as he is splayed across a bed - he thinks, a mattress of stone all the same - and if that ooze, that grotty, grimy stench and slick was to coat him whole, he still wouldn’t believe.

Sebastian. Sebastian. The name is called and moaned and screamed and yelled and groaned and the voice - voices - can not exist. Sebastian isn’t of gain. Don’t lie, he wants to rumble, wants to scrape the last dregs and protest. But he can’t. Because he shouldn’t argue neither. Someone so low; of his hunched stupor; of his idiotic, useless, useless, brain - doesn’t have the right to argue. 

Sometimes. Sometimes Sebastian wants to lose control. Wants to slaughter his very self; wants to saw until he is but a pool of blood; until that sickly sweet vermillion glimmers in the last shines of his ever-dulling stare, stare, stare. He wants to hit and punch and kill. Massacre. He doesn’t want to restrain or suppress or do anything that even involves the cruel, pointless, worthless bindings that cage the cruel, pointless, worthless man that is Sebastian.

Sometimes. Sometimes Sebastian - STOP.

Sebastian. Is right.


End file.
